


Quarantined

by ClemB



Category: Fringe
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 18:12:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClemB/pseuds/ClemB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new case, unexplained deaths, and Peter and Olivia forced into quarantine. Will working together make things better between them? Post Marionette.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Fringe, no copyright infringement intended.  
> Reviews are always appreciated, good or bad, they make me happy.  
> Originally posted on ff.net.

Olivia Dunham, Special FBI Agent, had requested a few days off from her superior Agent Broyles, a few days after insisting that she was fine and wanted to go back to work as soon as possible. She needed to work, to take her mind off of some matter. The problem was, that certain matter was a member of the team, Peter Bishop.

Peter Bishop, first an arrogant con-man she needed to bring back to the States, in order to save her lover. But he'd quickly became more, a friend, a confident, someone she could trust blindly. Someone she had slowly fallen in love with. Someone who had broken her heart.

She'd said she was fine. She'd had endured torture, had had to live through her alternate self's life, faced death, crossed to another universe and back. But she claimed that it didn't affect her. In some extent, it had, she still had doubts about some memories she had – were they her own or her alternate's? – but all she wanted was to pick her life up where she left off. Put her footing back into its track, and forget about it all.

She wished it could have been that simple. She thought she had her life back, her crazy, classified job at the Fringe division; her family, her friends; and Peter. She'd made it back thanks to him. Or moreover, thanks to his hallucination. Why had she seen him, of all the people she knew? Deep down, she believed that her feelings for him were so strong that even brainwashing couldn't erase his memory.

That was the hardest; she could not forget him, as much as she wished she could. She could not forget his betrayal, with the other her. She could not forget that before it even begun, their relationship had ceased to be what it was.

So she did was she did best; she hung onto her job, to stay sane. She burrowed herself into cases, keeping her mind busy, in a feeble attempt to gain her life back. Telling Peter how violated she felt, a few days earlier, had not made it better. She thought that perhaps, if she expressed herself out loud, she'd have some sense of closure. She didn't.

Getting rid of some of her belongings, cleaning and rearranging the furniture in her apartment, washing all of her clothes, twice, hadn't helped, either. For the first time of her life, she felt utterly depressed. And alone.

Her cell phone vibrating pulled her out of her musing. The screen flashed Broyles. There was a new case, a man found dead in his house by his wife. The coroner couldn't find a reasonable explanation for his death. Her superior and friend informed her that the Bishops and Agent Farnsworth were already informed and on their way. She hung up and quickly gathered her gun and plate before leaving her apartment.

\---------------------------------

Walter Bishop, scientist and former psychiatric patient, was running one of his numerous strange experiments, assisted by Agent Farnsworth, who had no choice but to keep an eye on him and make sure he didn't blow the building up.

Peter had been offered to take part of it, but he had quickly refused to participate in his father's eccentricity. He needed to be alone, to figure out what was going on with his life. A few weeks earlier, everything was going smoothly. He'd grown closer and closer to Olivia Dunham, who had all but crossed universes to bring him back to her. He'd finally reconciled with his father, the man who had raised him. He'd had some closure with his mother, still alive over there. He'd found his home, a place where he felt safe and loved.

He'd came back from the alternate universe with whom he thought was Olivia. Their relationship had quickly became more, and they'd felt into each other's arms, sharing everything from breakfast to bed time. He'd felt utterly happy, then, his life whole and complete. But he should have waited for the other shoe to drop; of course, it couldn't have been real. He'd sensed something was off with her, but he'd put the nagging feeling in a corner of his mind and simply enjoyed what they had.

And how deeply he regretted not trusting his instinct. He'd confronted her about it, but he should have insisted. He should have seen it. To say love was blind was too easy. He hadn't been blind. He had been reckless. He should have known better.

Astrid Farnsworth's cell phone rang and she quickly answered, keeping an eye on Walter. Broyles informed her of a new case, and expected to meet herself and the Bishops as soon as possible. He added that Olivia Dunham would join them on location, her days off being over.

She asked Walter to get ready and went into the office, where Peter seemed to be sulking, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He had dark circles under his eyes, sadness and anger written over his face.

"Peter? We have a new case". His shoulder tensed, and he barely nodded, making no attempt to stand up.

"Broyles is already there." He swallowed in one gulp the remaining liquor and placed the glass on the desk, turning to look at her.

"Olivia will join us, too." She saw his eyes cloud, a frown forming on his forehead. She knew something had happened between him and Olivia a few days before. It had taken a few days after Olivia's return, but she could see something was definitely broken between them. It pained her, the situation they were both into. They deserved none of it, but then since when had life been fair?


	2. 2

Walter almost ran to Broyles as soon as Astrid stopped the car along the sidewalk. The suburb was quiet during the mid-afternoon, the only disturbance were the police cars with their silent flashing lights on. A few curious had gathered in front of the house, on the other side of the road. Some journalists were already there, trying to have a word with any police officer, to learn about what was going on.

Peter exited the car warily, trying to spy Olivia amongst the crowd of officers. He hadn't seen her since her outburst in Barrett's backyard; he knew she'd requested a leave. He feared she might quit the fringe division and go back to her FBI routine. He was relieved when he saw the familiar silhouette, her blonde hair in its usual ponytail. He sighed and approached her slowly.

"Hey." She turned quickly, taking in his disheveled appearance. His beard was longer than usual, his clothes rumpled.

"Hi. I just got here, any info on the case?" Straight to the business. He knew her strategy; avoid any private moment, and stay guarded.

"No, we just arrived as well. Have you seen Broyles?" She nodded and turned her back to him, entering the house. He followed her inside.

The house was a typical suburban house, with the white picket fence and the dog house at the front. The main room was nicely furnished, the mantle decorated with pictures; a couple kissing at their wedding, a few of two kids, a picture of a family summer vacation. On the couch, though, sat a man. He looked almost peaceful, if it wasn't for the hollow look in his eyes, and the curiously pink skin of his face.

"Agent Dunham, I hope you are feeling better." Walter had joined them in the room, smiling at the young woman.

"Yes, Walter, thank you." She couldn't help but cringe at the sound of his voice, only to remember he wasn't the Walter from over there, but the fragile scientist from her side.

"Anything on the victim?" Peter asked Broyles, who was just finishing talking to the coroner.

"Travis Cowen, 32, found by his wife sitting dead on the couch. So far we have no explanation for his death." His wife had been coming back from work, the children hopefully spending the evening at friends'. When her husband hadn't moved or talked, she immediately called 911. As she had approached the couch, she saw a still smoking cigarette in her husband's hand, the ash abnormally long.

"This is fascinating." Walter took some samples of cigarette butts sitting in the ashtray near the couch, as well as the one in the victim's left hand. "Peter, come look." The son walked around the couch to stand facing the body. "Look at the skin, son."

"He seems a little flushed." Peter noted.

"Sunburn?" Olivia quipped. Peter smiled at that; it was december.

"The skin of a corpse is usually white, or slightly green, for a Caucasian specimen. There must be an explanation." Walter asked for the body to be brought back to the lab.

"I'm afraid I can't allow that." Walter frowned at Broyles remark. "We might be dealing with a virus, or some sort of contagious infection. The examination will have to take place at the FBI lab, where we can react quickly if needed."

"Very well. Astro, will you please help me with this?" Walter asked Astrid to take a few tissue samples, as well as fluids, before quickly escaping to the privacy of his lab.

Broyles, Olivia and Peter detailed the crime scene; there was no sign of struggle, or any visible break-in. His wife didn't know any potential threat to his husband, neither at his work or outside of it. The family's background had been quickly checked; their police record was clean, they paid their taxes on time, the couple hadn't even gotten a speeding ticket in their life.

"Well, I guess we'll learn more once Walter's done with the samples he took." Peter said. "I think I might need a lift, though." He looked at Olivia, who took a deep breath.

"I have to drop by the lab anyway." Walter and Astrid had left without waiting for Peter, and they knew she would be the only one who could drive Peter back to Harvard; somehow she sensed some conspiracy from the two friends.

"Thanks." Peter followed her and got into her car. She turned the radio on, letting the music fill the thick silence in the vehicle.


	3. 3

Walter and Astrid were running various tests on the samples they had gathered from the crime scene when Olivia entered the lab, followed by Peter. They both looked up expectantly, only to see two muted persons.

"Broyles should have sent me the complete background check on the Cowens, I'm going to have a look at it in the office." Olivia motioned to the room with her thumb and quickly disappeared.

Peter sighed and took his coat off, placing it on the back of a chair.

"What is it, son? Did something happen with agent Dunham in the car?" If only, Peter thought. Nothing had happened at all. They haven't said a word. He knew it was hard for Olivia, he knew he'd betrayed her on a way that few people could even begin to imagine. But he had been tricked, too. He'd been played by her, he had just been a pawn in their cruel game against this universe.

"No, Walter, nothing happened."

"Oh." Walter seemed relieved, but disappointed as well. He'd hoped for things to get better between his son and agent Dunham. He could see how their relationship was quickly disintegrating, and it was gnawing them all. He was overjoyed that Peter had came back, finally enjoying a sweet romance with agent Dunham. But, like his son, he had been crushed when he learnt that they hadn't brought their Olivia back. He'd been lied to, thinking she had became nicer to him. He should have seen it.

"Walter! I asked how it was going with the samples?" Peter insisted.

"Oh, sorry, I must have lost track of my thoughts for an instant." Walter smiled and walked toward the lab bench. "So far I haven't been able to determine the cause of the death. I have extracted something from his blood, and Asteroid was just helping me synthetizing it." Peter nodded and sat down on a stool, rubbing his eyes.

He couldn't assist his father, nor could he offer to help Olivia. It was already late in the evening, and with as little sleep as he had had the last days, he was getting tired. Suddenly, the lab phone rang, startling him.

"Bishop's den." He answered.

"This is Broyles. We have another body. I'll send the file to the lab, so you can look it over with agent Dunham. Please ask to Walter and agent Farnsworth to be here ASAP to proceed with the autopsy. Like the previous one, I don't want to risk spreading anything when we open him up. I'll send the location to your phone."

"Astrid, Walter, we've got another body." Walter stood up and quickly put his coat on, barely waiting for Peter to give the address to Astrid.

"Don't worry, I'll drop him off by your place once we're done with the case, and dinner. I'll see you tomorrow." The duo left him alone in the lab. Finally, he stood up to join Olivia in the office, and tell her about the latest development.

"Liv?" he poked his head in the office, expecting her to be studying the family's files. Instead, he found her sleeping, her head resting on her crossed arms, sitting at the desk.

"Olivia?" he shook her shoulder softly, calling her name. Slowly, she opened her eyes, and for a mere seconds he saw her eyes light up, a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth. However, she quickly straightened herself on the chair.

"Peter?" she cleared her throat. "What time is it?"

"About half past nine. You should go home and get some rest." He immediately cringed, hearing the words back in his head. 'I don't want to live in my apartment'.

"No, I'll, uh…I'm not done with the files yet." Peter took the time to look at her, and to really see her. She had dark circles under her eyes, and a constant frown between her eyebrows. Her hair was cutely messy, her eyes still sleepy.

"Broyles just called, they found another body. He's sending us the file here, let's have a look at it." She nodded and followed him out of the door, toward the faxing machine that stood in the lab.

Peter had his hand on the door handle when he was projected backward, sending Olivia on the ground with him. The last thought he had before loosing consciousness was for Olivia, whom he could see foggily a few feet from him, unmoving.


	4. 4

Broyles' phone rang, breaking the nightly silence of his house. The fire department had had his phone number through the administrator of Harvard, who had been woken up by a call from the police, informing him the basement of a building of his school had exploded. Knowing the lab was used by the now FBI consultant Walter Bishop, he immediately gave the FBI agent's number to the police, not wanting to deal with classified – and perhaps illegal – matters.

Broyles quickly left his house and rushed to the campus, where a dozen of glaringly lighten cars welcomed him. He immediately got the confirmation that, indeed, the lab used by the Bishop had been damaged by an explosion. Not knowing if the med team could go in yet, he called agent Farnsworth, who confirmed that she and Walter were safe in the Bishop's house, but wondered about Peter and Olivia's well being.

"We don't know if anyone was inside when the incident happened. The med team is waiting for my approbation before going in." Walter swiftly grabbed the phone from Astrid's hand, alerting Broyles.

"Good evening, agent Broyles. I must have forgotten to turn off my latest experiment. As of now we don't know what was in Cowen's blood, I was trying to synthetize it in order to determine what could have been the cause of his death. I would not go into the lab until I have find what killed those people."

Meanwhile, in the lab, Olivia was slowly regaining consciousness, her head throbbing, her ears ringing. Her eyes focused on her hand, lying in front of her face. She winced as she tried to sit up, her whole body aching. As her mind cleared she saw Peter, unconscious, a few feet from her. She remembered him going to the open the door, his hand on the door knob, when he was suddenly projected against her, sending her to the ground with him. What had happened next was a blur.

She could taste blood on her lips as she wet them, quickly asserting her wounds before moving. She must have bitten her tongue when she fell, she had a few cuts on her hands and forearms, but as far as she could feel, she was okay. She crawled to Peter and shook him. He cracked his eyes opened, immediately bringing his hand to his head, groaning.

"Humph…what happened? Are you okay?" He instinctively brought his hand to her arm, regretting it almost immediately. His shoulder had probably taken his fall, cushioning his head.

"I don't know, I think there was an explosion." They both stood up and smelled smoke, their eyes scanning the area to assess the damage.

As they walked into the hallway, Peter stopped Olivia, who was behind him.

"There's a fire. Do you know-" He couldn't finish his sentence, Olivia having grabbed the nearest fire extinguisher and being already working on figuring out how to use it.

"Here, let me." Peter quickly sprayed the fire, blowing it out efficiently.

"Don't tell me you've been working as a fireman?" she asked.

"Almost; with Walter's crazy habits, you learn early how to kill a fire before the house burns down." She smiled at that and they both staggered into the lab, debris cluttering the ground.

The lab was partially destroyed, half of the objects laid broken, others seemed to have melted. A few papers were still slowing consuming, setting the lab in a smoky mist. They could see the flashing lights of either the police or the ambulances thought the window, expecting to see a medical team rush into the lab at any minute.

"Either we were bombed, or Walter forgot to turn off something." Peter remarked.

Olivia's phone vibrated in her pocket and she quickly scanned the screen, seeing Broyles' name on it.

"Dunham." She answered.

"Olivia! Were are you? There was an explosion-"

"-in the lab, we know. Peter and I are still inside." He made sure they were both safe and unarmed before telling her the bad news.

"Walter believes the explosion probably happened because he forgot to turn off a Bunsen burner." Broyles explained. "Given we don't know the nature of the component that killed Cowen, you will both have to sit tight and wait for Walter to figure it out, before we let anyone in or out. As long as you feel fine, we'll proceed that way." Olivia told him there was plenty of food in the office's fridge, as well as bottled water. Broyles promised to send them the second victim's file through a secure server before hanging up.

"Well?" Peter inquired.

"We're stuck here." She explained briefly what was going on before they both decided to clean up summarily the lab. They split in two, trying to salvage what could be.


	5. 5

About an hour had passed, Olivia and Peter cleaning the lab up as best as they could. Peter had taken the corner where the heavy machines laid, arguing that they were too heavy for Olivia to lift them all. So she ended at the other corner of the lab, where the workbenches and small vials used to be.

Making sure there was no risk of explosion of fire anymore, they retreated to the office, Olivia grabbing the first aid kit. She took some glass splinters out of Peter's forearm, applying some antiseptic before bandaging the worst wounds. He then took his turn, cleaning Olivia up as best as he could without hurting her more. She winced a few times and he cursed, whishing there was some pain killers in the medical kit. She insisted that she was well as he cleaned a nasty gash on her cheek bone.

"I'm fine, Peter. It's just a few scratches. And don't even think about stitching my face." She closed her eyes as the disinfectant burnt her cheek, cleaning the wound efficiently. He then put everything away, keeping the medical kit nearby if needed.

"Okay. We should have received Broyles' email by now, do you want to check it while we grab a bite?" She nodded but remained on the chair, feeling somewhat weak – but refusing to say so to Peter.

"So...we have some pizza leftovers and…pastries. That should do it." Peter said, rummaging through the fridge. He reheated the pizza into the microwave and grabbed two cans of sodas, opening one and handing it to Olivia.

"Thank you." She took a sip, hoping her nauseous stomach would keep it down. She managed to eat two slices of pizza before declaring she was full, that Peter could finish it. He looked at her, surprised she had no appetite. She usually ate more, but then who was he to say he knew her well, after everything that had happened?

While eating they both checked the second victim's file, Erik Goltz, 49, father of three children and happily divorced. One of his colleague at work had found him dead, sitting at his desk, coming back from lunch break. The pictures showed the same pink color of the skin than the first victim's.

"The victims seem to have nothing in common." Peter looked at Olivia, who was rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"Hey, you're okay?" he worried, placing his hand on her forearm. She looked up at him and frowned, retreating her arm.

"Yeah, I, um…I must be tired, that's all." He nodded and offered her to get some rest on the couch, while he worked on the case. She surprised him again, not arguing and lying down on the couch, her head pillowed on her arm. He quickly got engrossed in the pieces of paper scattered in front of him on the desk, not noticing Olivia observing him.

She was confused; why had her hallucination came back? Wasn't he supposed to stay over there now that she was back? Was there something in this case that he could help her with?

"Peter?" he looked at her. "Why are you here?"

"What?" he was confused. "We're confined here until Walter…" he trailed off, quickly went crouching down in front of her, feeling her forehead.

"Olivia, how are you feeling?" She pushed her head in his hand, her eyelids half closing.

"I don't know." She sighed and Peter tried to have a look at her pupils for any sign of head trauma. He found none.

"Since I've been back, things have been…hard." She swallowed with difficulty, her eyes filling with tears. "I fear I've lost you, Peter. Because of what she's done…" He shushed her, stroking her hair.

"Don't say that. I know things are complicated right now, but please, don't give up on us yet." She nodded and fell quickly asleep; Peter pondered whether to let her sleep, or keep her awake. If she had a head trauma, she might never wake up. If she was exhausted and was in a delirium state, thought, sleeping was the best thing she could do. He sighed and called his father.

Walter and Astrid were working on the second victim's body, Erik Gotlz. Taking blood and tissue samples, Astrid made sure Walter didn't blow the FBI lab up. Her cellphone rang, and she quickly picked up, reading Peter's name on the screen.

"Peter?" she asked, keeping an eye on Walter. She shared a few words with the young Bishop and gave the phone to Walter, who was busy looking through a microscope.

"Son! How are you feeling?" Walter asked worriedly. Peter explained quickly the situation with Olivia. "Did you check her pupils? Well, do it again! There must be a medical flashlight in the medical kit…yes, move it on and out of her eyes, see how she is reacting." Walter waited while Peter performed the test.

"Her pupils are dilated, but they're not unequal." Walter confirmed he was not a head trauma, and asked his son to check for other symptoms.

"Well, she might have been hallucinating, but I'm not sure. And she seems to be breathing a little fast for a sleeping person." Walter hummed and dropped the phone on the nearest table, returning back to the body. Astrid picked it up.

"Peter? It's Astrid. Yes, he went back to the corpse." Walter asked Astrid to warn Peter; if it was a volatile component they were dealing with, he had to check for any similar symptom he might be experiencing. "Yes, I'll let you know as soon as we have something." She hung up after asking if he needed anything, his response negative.

Peter sat at the edge of the couch, covering Olivia with a blanket that had been thrown over the back of a chair. Had she been into delirium earlier? Or had she finally opened up to him, in an exhausted state?


	6. 6

Walter kept working all night long, refusing to take a break until he was sure Peter and Olivia were alright. Astrid had suggested they took a break, sleep a few hours and come back to work on the bodies with a fresh mind. Walter had argued with her, something he rarely did.

"We do not have time to rest, agent Farnsworth! Olivia's state might be linked to those corpses. She had just came back, to find her world upside down." Astrid had listened intensely to Walter.

"We cannot let Peter lose her. If he does, then I will lose him for good." His eyes had watered, and Astrid had reluctantly accepted to keep working on the case. Walter had of course been eating candies, but she had kept him mostly on his tracks, and they had made some progress.

"Astaroth? Look at those fingers…" Astrid and Walter bent on Cowen's corpse, examining his left hand fingers. His index and middle finger had brown stains. They quickly checked Goltz's fingers, and they found the same color on his right hand.

"It seems they were both smokers." Walter said. Astrid checked on their files, confirming that cigarette butts had been found near the bodies each time.

"I have to study them." Walter took the samples out of the plastic bags, cutting them into pieces and placing them into test tubes. He filled them with an orange liquid and placed them into an electronic machine capable of analyzing each item on a molecular level.

"Had Peter said if Gene was alright?" Walter asked. Astrid answered that she thought he said she was okay, and still in her stab at the lab. Walter simply hummed.

"While this machine does it work, why don't we catch on some sleep?" Astrid offered. They were both exhausted, their mind refusing to think properly anymore. Walter complied and soon both were sleeping soundlessly into the FBI building.

Olivia had slept through the night, Peter keeping an eye on her, drowsing. He had found some plastic film and tape early in the night, in an old box lying in the office, and had managed to repair the broken windows without waking Olivia.

He made some fresh coffee and gently woke her up, checking her pupils once again. Nothing seemed to have changed during the night; had least nothing had worsened.

Olivia ate quite a lot of pastries, to Peter's surprise. He was glad she had her appetite back, seeing her eat almost nothing the previous night. She confirmed that she felt fine, and craved for sugar. She even added sugar to her coffee, something she never did. Of course, Peter noticed the change of behavior.

"You have a sweet teeth this morning. You usually never had sugar to your coffee." She stopped stirring her drink.

"I guess you don't know me that well, uh." She snapped at him. Peter looked saddened. Their relationship was never going to improve at that rate. He did deserve some of her anger, but he had hopped they could had least keep the easy banter they'd shared so far.

"Yeah, I guess I don't." He sighed and stood up, emptying his mug into the sink and rinsed it. Olivia hated herself for reacting so boldly to his comment, but it seemed she couldn't help it. She didn't want to hate Peter, but after what had happened, it was hard to not be angry.

Peter chose to remain silent and opened the case's files again, trying to find a link between the two victims. Olivia finished her breakfast in the deafening silence, trying to find something to say to make things better. Unfortunately, her brain was foggy, and all she could come up with was I'm sorry. It wasn't enough anymore.

Near the end of the morning, in the FBI building, Walter and Astrid were reading the tests results done on the cigarette butts. Some of them contained an abnormal level of cyanide, a highly toxic chemical compound. Cigarettes did contain some level of cyanide, but thousands way less than what they had found in some samples. Walter cursed.

"I should have guessed! The pink skin is the result of the poison action on the hemoglobin. How could I not see it?" He trotted to the corpses, draw some blood and quickly confirmed his assumption. He had finally solved the case, meaning Olivia was saved.

The lab phone rang, breaking the exhilaration. Three other bodies had been found in a vacant house in the suburbs. The description was the same; no sign of struggle, and their skin had tuned pink. However, Broyles informed Walter and Astrid that the victims didn't seem to smoke cigarette, which was confirmed by Walter an hour later, on location. They were back to square one, with no clue on how to help Olivia, if she was indeed poisoned with the same substance as the one who had killed five people.


	7. 7

Peter hung up his phone, sighing. They still had no clue about how the now five victims had died, and Olivia's cravings for sugar did not seem to be a symptom for any poisoning, according to Walter.

Her head ached, although less than it did when she had woken up. She had managed to eat quite a lot, copiously mixed with what seemed to be very sweetened coffee. She did feel somewhat better, even though the previous night seemed mixed up with her dreams.

"What's going on?" she asked tentatively. They hadn't spoken since her outburst.

"The police found three other bodies. Walter had a theory but it all went to the trash with those new victims. Broyles is sending us the files so we can have a look at it." Olivia nodded and logged onto the computer, waiting for the incoming mail. A few minutes later, everything was printed and laid on the desk between them.

"Three brothers?" Peter asked. "Mathew, Jamie and Lonnie Boyett. 23, 25 and 26 years old. It says here there's a fourth brother, Andrew."

"I'll ask Broyles to locate him." Olivia grabbed her phone and talked to her superior for a few minutes. He wondered how they were holding up, knowing how tense it was between the FBI agent and the consultant. Olivia was his colleague, but also his friend, and it pained him to see her in such a disarray.

"So far, nothing. Walter is running tests already, but his first conclusion is that they all died the same way. How? He doesn't know yet."

Peter and Olivia worked on the files all morning long, trying to find clues that would tie the victims, studying their whereabouts, their hobbies. Nothing linked the victims, and the house in which the three brothers had been found was a dead end. Andrew was still missing, and had been reported absent from class for a week prior to the death of his brothers. He was either hiding, or had suffered the same fate as his brothers.

Peter noticed Olivia was weakening as the hours passed, her face looking paler. She began to ague that she was fine, but Peter all but forced her to lie down and rest.

"I won't say you look terrible, but you should rest as much as you can." She complied and took a nap, but not before commenting. "You look like hell, too. And you could use a shower." Peter smiled at that and put the cover up to her shoulders, brushing her hair back from her eyes.

Meanwhile, Walter had extracted tobacco and a lethal level of cyanide from each of the five victims' blood. The problem was, the Boyetts didn't smoke. No cigarette had been found on the corpses, or back at their apartment, and their fingers held no stain. The cyanide had been ingested by all, but not the same way. Astrid and him finally took a lunch break, meeting Broyles to inform him of the new development.

The afternoon was spent by Olivia on the couch, sleeping. When she woke up, she didn't see Peter in the room, and immediately sat up.

"Peter?" Nobody answered. Standing up, she saw him though the plastic windows he'd put up, bending over what she believed was Walter's latest experiment. The one that had exploded. The one that had probably contaminated her.

"Peter! What are you doing? Come back here!" He looked up and quickly walked back to the office, not wanting her to get out and risk getting worse. He took off the handmade cloth mask he'd been wearing, getting ready for the blow.

"What the hell were you thinking? Walter said to not go back near those test tubes!" Before he could answer, Peter fell on his knees, trying to loosen the collar of his shirt. Breathing heavily, he fell onto the floor, suffocating.


	8. 8

Olivia panicked and stood, immobile, a few feet from Peter. Finally, her brain clicked, her former marine training kicking in and she rushed to his side, loosening his collar and helping him lie on his back. She grabbed his head and put his chin up, clearing his airway.

"Come on, take deep, slow breaths". She placed her hand on his chest, feeling him weaken, his lungs filling less and less with oxygen. His eyes were closed, his arms limp on the ground. She was loosing him. She couldn't afford to lose him, not before clearing the air between them. Not ever.

She moved next to his head and grabbed his jaw, before blowing air into his lungs. She saw his chest expand, felt his breathe come out of him, but he wasn't breathing back in by himself. She kept the mouth-to-mouth she'd been taught to years beforehand, during her rookie training. She never thought she'd ever need it.

Olivia checked for his pulse, feeling it after several attempts; it was weak and irregular, his heart beating less and less strongly.

"No, don't you dare!" she felt tears burn the back of her eyes, refusing to let them fall. She insufflated more air into his lungs, pressing onto his chest to wake his heart up. "Come on, Peter, you're stronger than this!"

She redoubled her efforts, getting dizzy, her arms aching, her fingers numb against his chest. She wouldn't stop, not until he came back to her. She needed him, even if she refused to admit it.

"Damn it, Peter, breathe!" She formed a fist with her hand, hitting him above his heart, mimicking an electroshock. She hit him once, twice, and suddenly he took a deep breath, his hand reflexively moving to his torso, coughing. Olivia laughed through her tears, letting her head fall on his chest before checking for his pulse once again.

It was stronger than mere seconds before, his lungs now filling by their own. The problem was, he wasn't conscious yet, and his airway seemed blocked, a whistling sound coming out of his throat. Keeping a hand on him, she grabbed her phone and called Astrid, whom she hoped was with Walter. She quickly explained what had happened to the young agent, who passed the phone to Peter's father. He advised to help him using the oxygen supply sitting in the hallway, if it was still there – or maybe he had moved it to the storage room at the far end of the lab, he couldn't remember.

Not wanting to let Peter alone for more than a few seconds, Olivia rushed to get the item, keeping herself from inhaling the presumably poisoned atmosphere, and ran back to him. She quickly put the oxygen mask on his mouth and nose and turned the tap on the bottle, filling the it up. Several minutes passed, Walter still on the phone, waiting to hear whether his son was going to make it or not. He was, for once, extremely calm, Olivia noted. She reassured him when she noticed the whistling sound disappearing, Peter breathing more regularly, his pulse stronger.

"I think it worked, Walter." She couldn't see him but imagined him bouncing in the middle of the FBI lab, with a speechless Astrid at his side.

"Thank you, agent Dunham, for saving my son's life." Olivia smiled at that, promising to keep Walter updated about Peter's condition, before hanging up. She tried to move Peter to the couch, where he could lie more comfortably. His eyes opened when she lifted him, and he bought his hand to his face, feeling the oxygen mask. She laid him back on the floor and crouched near him, smiling.

"Welcome back." He made an attempt to speak, only to have Olivia shake her head. "Don't talk. You…" she sighed. Not wanting to get upset over his reckless behavior in the lab, she helped him walk to the couch, rolling the bottled oxygen and placing it near the foot of the furniture.

"Here, get some rest. If you need anything, I'm here, okay?" he nodded weakly, his eyes already closing. She sat near him, watching his sleep, making sure he was alright. It had been a close call. With her job, she was used to dealing with critical situations; she had lost partners, friends, and her former lover because of it. She had always dealt with this downside of being an FBI agent, figuring out it was a sacrifice they all had to make for the country. For their universe.

But even though she knew she could lose anyone, at anytime, she wouldn't accept that that person could be Peter, someday. Not only wasn't he a government agent, but she had been the one to drag him back to the States. She was somehow responsible for his well-being, for his safety, even though he claimed he was a big boy who could take care of himself.

Sighing, she brought her hand to his head, softly stroking his hair, observing him. He looked exhausted, deeply worn out. Of course, his ordeal with his nearly death had drained his body out of energy. But behind that, he looked like he hadn't had a decent night of sleep in weeks. She had noticed his stubble was longer than she remembered – but then, maybe he had decided to go for a change while she was over there; while she, the other Olivia, had shared her life with him. His eyes looked different, too; not only for the constant darkness underlying them, but for the ghosted look he supported. He tried to hide it, but she knew him too well to not see through his facade.

She was deeply hurt when Peter had told her what had happened during her missing time. She had tried to play it cool, saying she understood, arguing that it didn't change anything between them. She had managed to keep a strong face the first day, loosing it only in the privacy of her apartment; she had snapped at him the second day, avoided talking to him when it wasn't necessary for the investigation. Finally, as Barrett was arrested, as she had listened to the crazy maniac, the walls she had safely built fell, her guarded masquerade broken down.

As she sat there, on the rusty garden chair, weepingly pouring her heart our to Peter, she had see how hurt he was, too. She couldn't avoid the look in his reddening eyes; he had to have known that by telling her the truth, he was taking the chance to lose her. But she was slowly starting to appreciate him being honest with her, and not let her live through another lie. Peter was one of the rare people she could trust blindly, despite what had happened between them. He had had the nobility to take the shot for what the other her had done, even if in the end, he was just as much of a victim as she was.

Olivia's ringing phone interrupted her thoughts. She cursed and fumbled in her pocket, trying to answer it before Peter woke up. Hitting the answering button, she watched him stir in his sleep, hopefully not arousing. She walked to the far end of the room, talking softly.

"Dunham." It was Walter, inquiring about his son.

"Agent Dunham, I am sorry to disturb you, but could you check on Peter for me?" She assured him that he was fine and currently resting on the couch.

"Oh, well, that is good. What I am asking for however, is for you to run a few tests for me, as I cannot do them myself." Olivia frowned and went back to Peter, sitting near his legs.

"Alright, what do you want me to do?" She did as asked; his skin looked normal, but she couldn't remember whether it was pinker when Peter had fallen to the ground or not. His pulse seemed strong and regular, his breathing somehow rapid but nothing alerting, the oxygen mask still helping him. Finally, she grabbed the medical flashlight from the desk, cursing internally for waking Peter up so harshly.

"Peter?" she shook his shoulder gently, waiting for him to rouse. "Come on, open your eyes." He did as asked and she quickly apologized before lighting the offending object straight toward his eyes, watching the pupils react.

"They seem big." She told Walter. Nodding she moved the light in and out of his vision, gauging his eyes' reaction. "I'm not sure, Walter. His pupils react, just not so much." Peter frowned and took the oxygen mask off, trying to sit up. Olivia put her hand on his chest, forcing him to stay down on the couch.

"Liv, what's going on?" She asked Walter to hang on while she summarily explained to Peter Walter's theory. "He thinks he might have an idea of what killed the victims, and what poisoned us; but to be certain, we have to check each other and describe the symptoms as best as we can."

Peter nodded and help his hand, palm up, to Olivia, silently asking her to pass him the phone. "Walter? Yes, I'm okay." He listened to his father's ramblings, quickly stopping him. "Look, whatever it is you think it is, what are the symptoms?" Peter listened intently, trying to memorize the details through his foggy brain. "Walt, slow down, would you? Let me check Olivia." He put the phone on his lap, Walter's voice filtering through the speaker.

Her eyebrows rose on her forehead, wondering what was going on. Before she could react, Peter had sat down and grabbed the penlight from her hand, flashing it to her eyes, observing her pupils react, his right hand on her cheek to keep her head steady. Humming, he then checked her carotidal pulse, and finally placed the back of his hand on her upper chest, checking her breathing, waking goose bumps on her skin as his hand glided on her body.

Placing the phone back on his ear, he dropped his other hand on her leg, unconsciously stroking it. Blushing, she tried to concentrate on what Peter was saying to his father. "-so everything seems to correspond, even though she seems to be doing better." He looked at her, noticing the pink color of her cheeks, knowing it wasn't due to the poisoning at all. His hand stopped moving, resting on her leg, while he finished his conversation. "Okay, call us back when you have something new."

"So?" Olivia cleared her throat and busied herself with the oxygen mask and bottle, avoiding to look at Peter.

"So, Walter thinks he knows what's going on. He's running a few tests and will call us as soon as he knows what it is. In the meanwhile, he advises us to eat the pastries from the fridge and drink soda or any sweet drink."

Neither of them knew what to think about Walter's mysterious recommendation. He hadn't told them what was his guess, not wanting to alarm them unnecessarily, so they agreed to do as he had said, and got ready for dinner, putting the food out of the fridge and setting it on the desk.


	9. 9

As they sat there, silently forcing food down their knotted stomach, they both reflected on what had happened. Olivia had first been poisoned, but seemed to be getting better without treatment. Peter, on the other hand, had almost died, and was now barely able to remain sitting up on a chair. He had needed oxygen, she had a strange craving for sugar. No symptom matched any poisoning they could think of. They hoped Walter would quickly find out what was going on, or they might lose it.

Olivia kept an eye on Peter, who was weakly gulping down some soda. Sensing her watching him, he looked up, putting the can back on the desk.

"What?" he talked softly, almost whispering, his throat sore.

"It's nothing." She couldn't stop herself repeating in her head that she'd almost lost him. She wouldn't acknowledge it, but for the mere seconds she thought Peter was dead, she had regretted not having talked to him; she knew things wouldn't get back to the way they had been before the whole alternate universe fiasco, but she hoped that somehow, they would find a way to work together without awkwardness blanketing them. She wished that she would be strong enough to look past everything, and move on.

"Liv..." he trailed off, not knowing how to bring up what had bothered him since the previous night. "Can I ask you something?" She nodded, anxiously listening to him.

"Last night, when you..." When you finally opened to me, he thought. "Do you remember what you told me?" She frowned. They had spent the previous evening working on Goltz's file, and she had felt exhausted, Peter making her rest despite her protests. She had drifted in and out of sleep, her mind confused as to why her hallucination had came back to her.

He read her face, the precious moment when she recollected what had transpired between them showing clearly in her features. He knew she remembered, but waited for her to express herself, giving her time to recompose.

"I was confused, I don't-" he cut her off, not wanting her to cover the truth.

"You do remember, Liv. Please don't lie to me." She huffed and sat straighter on the chair, crossing her arms on her chest.

"Why does it matter? I wasn't myself, I-"

"Yes, you were! Don't tell me your anguish was fake, because I won't believe you." Olivia stood up, pushing the chair backward, the object almost falling to the floor.

"And how would you know?" she was fuming, her hands flat on the desk, her eyes sending daggers to his.

"Don't do this, Liv. I know I deserve your anger, your hatred, but please don't pretend I don't know you." He swallowed, hard, his voice a mere whisper. "I can't hate myself enough for what I did to you."

She laughed nervously, pacing in the small room. "Oh, that's just perfect. So now you're taking the blame for her? How cute." She knew she was hurting him with her words; she knew he wasn't responsible for what had happened. But she felt that if he had been more careful, if he had really known her like he claimed he did, none of it would have happened.

"Alright, I know I'm far from being perfect, and you can blame it all on me if you want. It won't change anything in the fact that we were both toyed with." He stood up and wobbled toward her, his footing uncertain. "When you said you've lost me..." he sighed, rubbing his eyes. How could he make her understand that he would always be there for her, not matter how far she pushed him from her life. "I know that things will never be the same between us. I accepted that by telling you the truth, I might lose you. But please, don't shut me completely out." He looked at her, desperately trying to gauge her reaction. Her eyes were cast downward, her hands fidgeting. She shook her head, refusing to let the forming tears in her eyes fall in front of him.

"What do you want me to say? It hurts, Peter. What she's done, I feel violated. All of my belongings have been looked through, my life has been scrutinized, filed and given to another woman." She took a shaking breath, her throat constricted by an invisible vise. "What hurt the most is that you, out of all people, didn't see anything. Am I just a shell to you, Peter? Am I..." she couldn't continue, not without sobbing; and she wouldn't let him see her cry, she wouldn't let him how broken she was because of him.

He was distraught; so this was how she felt. As if she was transparent to him, a replaceable doll with whom he had played, not caring past the physical aspects of her. He wanted to take her into his arms, kiss her tears away and never let go. He would try to make amends his whole life, if only it meant that she would understand what she really meant to him.

He took her hands in his, seeing her flinch but not pull back. "How do you think I feel about this? I'm not worthy of you, Olivia, not when I'm not able to distinguish you from her." He had her cornered in the room, his hands keeping her close; he was going to tell her that he hurt, too, even if it was the last thing he did.

"I told you I noticed changes; but I'd rather believe that our new relationship was changing you, however presumptuous that sounds, than admit that I had been duped. I won't say I didn't like the changes; I like when you smile, when you open up to me. I cherish those rare moments because I know it must take a lot from you to talk about your feelings, or about your past. I thought that maybe, after everything, you had taken a look back at your life and decided to enjoy it more." He swallowed hard, letting her proceed everything he had just said.

She was looking at their joined hands, relishing in the comforting gesture, trying to find the words to answer him. The shrilling ringing of a phone cut her short, and Peter swiftly grabbed the offending object from the desk, handing it to her. Wiping tears from her cheeks, she promptly picked up the call.

"Dunham". She hated how weak her voice sounded, hoping that whoever was on the other side of the phone wouldn't notice.

"Oh, hey Walter." Peter busied himself cleaning the desk, storing the remaining food in the fridge, cursing his father for interrupting his and Olivia conversation.


	10. 10

Walter and Astrid had successfully extracted tobacco and cyanide from all of the victims' blood. The symptoms Olivia and Peter were a match to light cyanide poisoning, albeit not similar. Olivia had been less intoxicated than Peter, suffering from headache, dizziness and hallucinating - as she had confirmed on the phone to Walter a few minutes earlier. Peter, more severely poisoned, had almost died, and probably would have, if Olivia hadn't saved his life.

Walter inquired about Gene's well being again, sparkling Olivia's curiosity.

"She seems fine, from what we can see from here. She had plenty of food and water yesterday, and she's been mooing from time to time, so I guess all is right." Walter smiled, both glad to hear his pet was still alive, but more importantly, that his theory was correct.

"Olivia, have you and Peter been eating the pastries from the fridge? " The FBI agent concurred. "Those were Gene's food supplement." Frowning, Olivia listened intently. "She wouldn't take her B12 vitamins the usual way, so I had to lure her into taking them. I filled the pastries with a chemical replacement, hydroxocobalamin." Walter explain, proud of his subterfuge. Olivia didn't know how to answer.

"So Gene's blood is pumped with it, that's why she's alright." Peter tentatively approached Olivia, wanting to know what his father was talking about. Understand his attempt, she hit the speaker button on her phone, sharing the conversation.

"What about these cravings I've had for sugar? Are they remotely related?" she asked, her phone now laid on the desk, both Peter and Olivia sitting on the furniture.

"Oh, there is indeed a theory about glucose lessening the effects of cyanide poisoning, but nothing has been proved yet. Perhaps your body naturally craved what could help it?" Not knowing what to answer, Olivia stood awkwardly near the desk, occupying herself with the victims' files, dreading the moment when Peter and her would be facing each other again. Peter finished the phone call with his father, listening to his advices before hanging up.

He looked at her, not knowing what to say, or do. "Astrid is calling Broyles, to let him know what's going on. Walter think it's better if we stay here until the FBI has cleared the lab from the cyanide." Nodding, she carefully made a pile with the files, before moving to rearrange the pencils in their holder.

Sighing, annoyed by her behavior, Peter let himself fall on the couch and rubbed his eyes, trying to find the right words. "Look, I know you don't want to finish this conversation." She looked up through her bangs, which were peskily in front of her eyes again. "Can we at least be friends? Or try to? I don't want to lose what we had before..." He cringed, not liking how words were pouring out of his mouth before he could think them through.

Sighing, Olivia sat at the far end of the couch, glancing at him. "I understand what you tried to say, earlier." She frowned. "Well, I think I do. I don't hate you, Peter." She shook her head and turned toward him, facing him. "I don't want to hate you, even if right now I don't want to be with you the way I wanted to a few months ago." She took a deep breathe. "I don't know if we'll ever go back to the easy friendship we had, but I don't want to lose that, however hard it is right now." Peter nodded, relieved that she wasn't completely shutting him off her life. "When I said I didn't want to be with you-"

"It's okay, Liv." He cut her off. He would take whatever she gave to him, however small it was. "Peter..." she shook her head, wanting him to let her finish. "I don't want to be with you, even as a friend, for now. It's hard enough to work together, so let's just settle on being partners, okay?" Peter world's crumbled; he had expect her to reject him, to ask for him to stop working for the Fringe division, or for her to be transferred. He had guessed that being as devoted to the job as she was, she would find a way to make it past through the resentment she felt toward him. But never had he imagined to be working with her, without sharing more than the case. Without going for a drink after a hard day at work. Without working on a case over a pizza at her place. Without calling her at random hours just to hear her voice, pretending to need some intel or advice. He pushed his palms into his eyes, seeing stars behind his eyelids, feebly trying to the shut the world out.


	11. 11

Phillip Broyles, head of the Fringe division, was sitting on the black cushioned FBI standard desk chair, worrying about his friend and fellow agent, Olivia Dunham. She had insisted that she needed to get back to work, and he had granted her request, knowing all too well the raw need to burrow feelings and thoughts into work, numbing the mind and finding solace, at least for a few hours. He now doubted his decision to send her back so soon, knowing she would have to deal with personal matters, sooner or later. He didn't know Peter Bishop that well, but he felt the man was honorable, and would come clean with what had transpired between him and the Olivia from the other universe. It was only a matter of time. Now that he and Olivia were stuck in the lab office since two days, he feared what could happen. He knew both were responsible adults, capable of dealing with whatever was thrown their way, but the situation they were both stuck in was unprecedented.

His corded phone rang, his secretary since long gone home wouldn't filter the calls. Slowly, he picked the cradle up, listening.

"This is Broyles." His voice forced respect. The phone call was made from the hospital front desk by an agitated nurse.

"Agent Broyles? This is nurse Galloway, from the central hospital. A man just checked himself in, asking for you specifically. I'm sorry to disturb you at such a late hour, but he wouldn't let us examine him until he had spoken to you." Rubbing his forehead, he sighed.

"How did you have my number?" She explained that she had called 911, asking to be put in contact with him; the person whom she'd talked to had finally agreed when he had heard the symptoms the unknown man was presenting.

"He has trouble breathing, his skin has an unusual pink coloration, and he keeps saying he's going to die without the proper treatment. Do you know what's going on, sir?" Recognizing the symptoms, he informed the nurse he would be at the hospital as soon as possible, bringing his team with. As he drove toward the Bishops' house, he called Astrid, knowing she was staying with Walter, asking for them to be ready to be picked up. Half an hour later, they were all in a secluded examining room.

"I am special agent Broyles. You have requested to see me, I hope for you it is important." Broyles stood at the end of the bed where the man currently lied, while Walter and Astrid examined him. Soon enough, the diagnostic was announced by Walter.

"Cyanide poisoning." Walter smiled, taking his rubber gloves off. "Do you have an antidote kit?" he asked the nurse. She nodded and quickly went to get one, quickly treating the patient. Walter turned to Astrid, asking for candy from the machine he had spotted in the hallway. She went with him, leaving Broyles and the working nurse with the patient.

"Alright, now that you have what you asked for, I'm listening. Who are you, and what do you know?" The young man looked frightened, wincing as an IV was put into his left arm, his right hand already handcuffed to the bed.

"My name is Andrew Boyett." The missing brother, Broyles mused. "My brothers were working on a project, and I don't know why, or how, but one day I came home and found them dead."

"Mister Boyett, don't insult me with your lies. I have neither the time nor the desire to prolong this meeting, so you either tell me the truth now, or I'll have you brought into custody for interrogation."

The young man admitted he was the one who had moved his three older brothers to an abandoned house in the suburbs, trying to hide the bodies. The four of them lived in the family house, together, since their parents death the previous year. Being 20 years old at that time, his brothers had taken care of him, but he had soon dropped school and found a job, helping them pay the bills. Pretending being tired, he didn't tell more to Broyles, who had no choice but to order a guard at the boy's door until morning.

The medical staff wasn't worried for Andrew's recovery, so Broyles, Astrid and Walter left the hospital at the beginning of the night, planning on going back in the morning. Broyles had to interrogate him, and Walter wanted to run a few other tests on him, with Broyles' consent. Astrid, of course, had no choice but to assist him.

Meanwhile, in the Harvard lab office, Peter and Olivia were trying to find arrangements for the night.

"Are you sure this couch isn't convertible?" Peter nodded for the third time, sighing.

"Look, I'll take the chair." Olivia refused to let him sleep on the desk chair, however comfortable he wanted her to believe it was.

"Peter, can't we just share the couch?" His eyebrows rose, a smirk forming on his lips. "I mean, we could just sit or sprawl on half of it..." she said unconvincingly. She wasn't keen on spending the night sitting, trying to get a few hours of sleep at most.

"Okay, I sprawl, you lie down. You can even use me as your pillow." He smiled, trying to have her agree to his plans. He was tired, he would sleep even if he had to stand up. She, on the other hand, would have more trouble to rest, if he referred to the previous night. Sighing, she reluctantly agreed, grabbing the blanket that laid heedlessly on the back of the seat.

Taking his shoes off, he propped them on a chair, pillowing his head on his folded coat. She discarded her shoes as well, took off her jacket, placing it carefully on the back of a chair, before joining him on the sofa, sitting awkwardly near him.

"Come on, I won't bite". He tapped on his shoulder, his arm along the top of the couch, creating an inviting human pillow. Extending her legs, she cushioned her head on his chest, not admitting to herself that she did like his closeness.

"Good night, Liv." he whispered, turning the light off with the nearby switch. "Night, Peter." she couldn't help but wonder if it had been that easy for them, to fall in each other arms. If it would have been so simple, were she the one who had came back. She couldn't help to hope that, someday, it could be that simple between them again.


	12. 12

Olivia woke up feeling well rested, something she wasn't used to since weeks. Burrowing her head into the pillow, she fought back consciousness, relishing in the comfortable state when one was not asleep but not yet awake. Sighing contently, she wrapped her arms around her extra pillow, intending to sleep a few more minutes before the day would claim its right.

She took the time to concentrate on what she was feeling, enjoying the simple fact that she was sleeping in a bed, wrapped in clean, soft sheets. Her pillow felt different, more firm, but then, after months away, her memories might have been altered. However, her pillow had never moved beforehand, nor had it cuddled her.

Sitting up, she was more or less forced downward by a strong arm wrapped around her waist, warm fingers tentatively touching the skin of her back. Peter. The previous events came to her in a flash; the new case; the lab exploding; Peter and her quarantined in the lab office; the fight; the poisoning, Peter almost dying; another fight; them sharing the couch for the night. Her using his shoulder as a pillow. Them being more or less tangled on the couch, Olivia resting half-sprawled on Peter.

Attempting to sit up again, she unfortunately bumped her elbow into Peter's chest, waking him up.

"Sorry." She whispered. Nuzzling her neck, he sighed contently, strengthening his hold on her, his other arm finding its way around her waist. "'sokay."

Olivia was paralyzed, perched on her arm, hovering above Peter, the blanket still covering them. Attempting to move for the second time, her movement finally woke Peter. His eyes opened slowly, a soft smile playing on his lips as he caught a glimpse of her. Her hair was cutely messy, creating a curtain as she was looking down at him, her eyes two big green orbs.

Taking in their position, he let go of her, straightening as best as possible against the back of the couch. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, I-"

"It's okay." She brushed her bangs back on her head and fixed her shirt, which as inched up as she had quickly moved to sat at the far end of the sofa. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes, trying to glance at her discreetly.

The annoying ring of the phone finished to rouse them from their sleep. Peter was quicker to grab the offending object, answering the call.

"Son! How are you doing this morning?" Not letting time to answer, Walter went on. "I have good news, the FBI is sending a team to clean the laboratory!" Peter could hear the smile in his old man's voice. "Agent Broyles is here also, and advises for you and Olivia to wait until all is cleared." Peter rolled his eyes. Of course, once they were free to leave the cramping office, they would have to go to the hospital for a full checkup. Both wanted to take a hot shower, have a few drinks and hide away in their room, keeping the world away. Unfortunately, as Walter kindly reminded them, they still had a case to solve.

Peter finished the phone call with him father only to find Olivia making coffee, and grabbing the few pastries left in the fridge. He silently looked at her offering hand, Gene's food nicely put in front of him, and didn't dare say anything when he saw the look in Olivia's eyes.

"Thanks". He took a bite and she smiled, her eyes not leaving his frame.

"What is it?" wiping his mouth in a paper towel, he pulled a chair and sat down.

"It's just…" swirling the black liquid in her mug, she took a sip. "I'm glad you're okay." Nodding, he took a sip of the burning coffee, welcoming the sweet ache on his tongue.

"Me too. I thought I was going to lose you again." She looked in his eyes then, without pretense, without disguise. Her smile had faded, a light frown appearing on her brow.

"You won't lose me, Peter." Thinking back to their last conversation, he fervently hopped she was right. "I need time, to process everything." Cradling the cooling mug between her hands, she explained. "I won't lie to you, Peter; this is hard." He blew on his drink, keeping his eyes on her. "I can't help but think about her; about what you had with her, that we never will." His heart was slowly breaking, tiny fissures running up its structure. Was she saying there was no chance for them, ever?

"Whatever happened with her…" Her voice broke; she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "Whatever happened with her, you'll keep the memories; they'll pop up in your mind at random times, and-" Shaking his head, he carefully placed his now empty mug on the desk, silently.

"We can – we will have our own history. What happened when you were missing, it means nothing, Liv." He insisted. "Nothing." Nodding, she grabbed the carafe, pouring them another coffee. It was strange, how calm and open she was feeling, both opening their heart to each other. Maybe the poison was still running in their veins. Maybe the confined air lacked oxygen, making them less guarded.

"I understand you need time. I do, too. I'm not sure I'll be able to forget everything, let alone forgive myself." She was surprised to read guilt over his face, his grown beard giving him a somber look. Clearing her throat, she opened her mouth to answer, only to be interrupted by a loud bang at the main door, a dozen of gas mask wearing persons entering the lab.

Sighing, he got up, emptying his mug in the sink, throwing the leftovers in the trash. Olivia swallowed the last of her coffee and rinsed the cup under the tap, letting it upside down to dry on a towel. They quickly cleaned the room, folding the blanket, making a neat pile of the victims' files. Waiting for the cleaning team signal, they finally exited the room, walking toward the sunlit stairs. Side by side, they exited the building, inhaling the fresh morning air, ready to face whatever the day had in store for them.


	13. 13

Squinting as the morning sunlight blinded them, Peter and Olivia breathed fresh air for the first time in days. The tiny office room they had been stuck into had felt more and more uncomfortable as time had passed. The air was heavy, humid and so full of words and feelings that they had craved that instant. The moment when they could let go of everything, and just feel relieved. Glad to still be alive. Happy to feel the warming sun on their skin, caressing their tired face. Relieved they wouldn't have to face other each other without a safe exit nearby.

A wall of cars, trucks and ambulances welcomed them at the feet of the front stairway. Most of them were part of the cleaning team, still busy in the lab. Two ambulances were obviously waiting for them, as well as a well known black SUV; Broyles'. Spotting the tall man near a paramedic, talking, they both resumed them walk down the stairs. Concentrated on the FBI agent, they didn't see the person attacking them from behind, almost jumping on Peter's back.

"Peter! Olivia!" Walter's grin was impossibly big, his eyes shimmering. Moving to face them, Walter wrapped both Peter and Olivia into a hug, one arm around each. Groaning, Peter patted his father's back, while Olivia hugged the old man awkwardly. "I'm so glad you are both fine." Letting go of them, he took a step backward, the smile on his face replaced by a frown, his mouth trembling. "I am so sorry, all of this is my fault." Peter rolled his eyes, Olivia shaking her head. "If I hadn't been in such a hurry, none of this would-"

"Walter, it was an accident. We're both fine. It's okay." Olivia comforted him as best as she could, her hand on his forearm. But the old man looked inconsolable, fidgeting and staring at his shoes, balancing on his heels. Eyeing a young agent approaching them, Peter promised his father they would all go have some ice cream as soon as the case was closed, trying to cheer him up. It didn't have the awaited results that kind of promise had, however, Walter did seem to feel somewhat better.

"Guys, you're finally out!" Astrid exclaimed, joining their little reunion. "How are you feeling?" she asked, genuinely concerned. She had worried for their safety, of course, working with Walter as fast as possible to find out what was going on. But she had cringed as she had learnt her two friends had to stay locked in a room for hours, days even; she had seen on both their face the torment they were going through, she had spoken with Olivia and had hurt for her. Astrid's heart had broken when she had discovered the truth, and hoped her two friends had used the forced lock-down to talk things through.

"We're good." Olivia answered, her eyes telling Astrid what she wanted to know; they were good. The double meaning didn't escape her, and she nodded, the two women exchanging a knowing look.

"Well, that is for the medical team to decide." Broyles said, a smile warming his face. "Glad to see you two are out of trouble." Eyeing them, he added. "You are to be both checked out at the hospital, no argument accepted. Once you're cleared, we'll be waiting for you there to interrogate Andrew Boyett." Nodding, Olivia and Peter headed to the ambulances, sharing once last look at the vehicles doors closed.

The ride was quick, the two of them fast dressed in gowns before being pocked and probed by different doctors and nurses. Their discharges were signed two hours later, both of them using the adjoining bathrooms to take a shower and change their filthy clothes before meeting the rest of the Fringe team at the hospital cafeteria.

Walter was seated next to Astrid, eating blue Jell-O; Broyles was nursing a coffee, reading a file opened on the table. Olivia sat down, dismissing Peter's offer to grab a sandwich. He left to buy himself lunch and came with a coffee, handing it to her.

"Thank you." she smiled and took the cup from his hand, appreciating the sweet gesture. He was always taking care of her, intentionally or not, and she was glad that hasn't changed.

The five of them were soon in Andrew Boyett's room, which was heavily guarded. The young man had completely recovered from the poisoning, and was told he would be brought into custody as soon as the interrogation was over. He was intimidated by the FBI presence at the foot of the bed, especially by Broyles, whose eyes clearly said he did not have time to lose. He quickly accepted to tell them everything.

"My parents died of lung cancer. Both of them." He took a sip of water, fighting tears. "The thing is, they didn't smoke. They never did. Doctors said it was probably due to passive smoking." He shook his head, getting upset. "Somebody had to pay for it!"

"Those people you killed, they had a family, they had kids." Olivia watched Broyles' jaw contract.

"I don't know who died. My brothers didn't know." He shook his head, scratching his hair. "We were barely at phase 1. We were trying to find the right amount of cyanide to use."

"Phase 1 of what?" Olivia asked, her hands gripping the foot bar of the bed.

"We wanted them to pay. All of them. So we decided to poison the cigarettes. They had to pay for what they did!"

"How did you do it? You couldn't possibly keep the cyanide stable enough to-" Walter approached the boy, curious.

"We grew a GMO." Andrew answered as if it was the most easy thing in the world.

"Of course!" Walter turned around, scribbling on his notepad.

"We created a tobacco plant that produces cyanide naturally."

"Then it would have been easy to contaminate the whole industry." Peter added, finally understanding. The young boy nodded.

"What happened to you and your brothers? How did you inhale it?" Astrid inquired.

"The plant mutated. We had to use some other species DNA, including fraxinella." He sighed, fidgeting. "It was stupid." Nobody understood except Walter, who noticed the questioning look of his teammates.

"Dictamnus, also known as burning-bush. This plant produces a highly inflammable substance in summer."

"But it's the beginning of winter, Walter." Astrid reminded him.

"We used a greenhouse." Andrew explained. "One night, we were woken up by a fire. We thought we would lose everything, all the work we had done in months. So we tried to save what we could."

"The tobacco consuming, it liberated cyanide, which poisoned all of you." Olivia concluded. The young man nodded.

"I lost my whole family. This revenge idea was so stupid." He angrily wiped his tear-strained cheeks. "It wouldn't have brought them back. And now I lost my brothers, too. We should have accepted what happened and try to move on."

Not knowing what to say, the four of them soon left the room to wait for Broyles in the hallway, who was taking care of the transfer into custody. He asked for a psychiatrist support, knowing the man would need all the help he could, and offered him to stay the night in the hospital, as it was already late in the evening. Andrew accepted, knowing he wouldn't spend a night in a comfortable bed soon.

Joining the rest of the team at the entrance of the hospital, Broyles heard Walter reminding Peter the promise he had made to grab ice cream on their way home.

"I have a better idea. Let's go for drinks." Peter suggested, eyeing the three agents. Olivia looked down at her shoes, waiting for Broyles and Astrid answers. To her surprise, they both agreed, leaving her with no choice but to join them. She was tired, she wanted to take a bath and get a good night of sleep, a few shots of whiskey helping. At the same time, she wasn't in a hurry to go back to her apartment, where she would probably end up getting a few hours of sleep on the couch.

Sitting at the bar stool, nursing her third glass of alcohol, she watched Walter, Peter and Astrid play a game of darts, laughing. Broyles had just left, making sure she was alright, and insisting she took a day off, knowing he would probably see her in the FBI office the next morning anyway. She was glad she had him as a friend, as well as her superior. Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice Peter walk toward her, his empty beer bottle in his hand. Asking the bartender for another, he sat next to Olivia.

"You okay?" He asked, a cute frown forming on his forehead.

"Yeah." she nodded toward Walter, who was dancing with Astrid on some jazz song. "Seems like he's having fun." Peter turned to look at his father, smiling.

"We all are. Why don't you play a game with us?" Knowing she would refuse, he insisted. "I bet you can't beat me." She knew all too well what he was trying to do. Challenging her had always worked. Sighing, she got up, bringing her glass with her. Smiling triumphally, he followed her, joining Astrid and Walter. Watching her through the game, seeing her smile and hear her laugh again, he knew she would make it through. She was a strong woman, and despite everything she had been through, he knew she would be okay. He had always admired her strong will to survive, no matter what life threw her way. He hopped he could still play a part in her life, no matter how small, just to hear her sweet laugh, or catch her in those innocent moments, a smile illuminating her face.


End file.
